Stanley waved his hand toward the growing conflagration, which, at that instant, burst, with a mighty report, into a fountain of flame.
“For that,” he said, sternly. “Come along, or I’ll find a way to make you!”
“I didn’t do that,” protested Hummel, staring toward the fire, as though conscious of it for the first time. “That must ’a’ been—”
“Who?” asked Stanley, as Hummel suddenly checked himself.
“No matter,” answered that worthy.
Stanley, his patience exhausted, jerked the little man to his feet and struck him over the head with his revolver.
“Come on,” he said savagely, “I ain’t got no time to waste on you! Step lively, or I’ll put you to sleep.”
Away in the distance, he could hear the growing rattle of the engine gongs and knew, with a breath of relief, that the fire department was at hand. He knew something else, too—that within a very few minutes, a great mob would be upon the scene, which it would take the hardest kind of work to control. The windows in the neighbourhood had been thrown up at sound of the explosion—he could hear the hum of voices, the cries of alarm. He had no time to fool with a reluctant prisoner, and he jerked him again to his feet.
“Will you come?” he demanded.
“No,” answered Hummel, his face yellow with terror, struggling desperately to free himself.